Runaway
by Trippinoutmysoul
Summary: Girl Meets Greaser- New, troubled, girl in town is taken into the 'Outsider's' fold. Takes place outside the setting/circumstances of the book. Alternate Reality, Original Characters. R/R please!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

I could hear them behind me, the soles of their expensive sneakers pounding the scarred cement of the sidewalk in an excited tattoo. I was running as fast as I could, not bothering to pace myself; either they'd catch me, or they wouldn't. I figured my only chance was to get to the gas station two blocks away, hoping I could find safety in numbers.

A primal wave of fear had washed through me when they'd charged at me. It had transformed me into prey and had me spinning and running full tilt before I'd even processed the threat. Now the panicked thoughts burst through my mind- What would they do to me? Beat me? Rape me? I wasn't sure of anything except the fact that if these two high-society boys were chasing one 'white trash' girl down a deserted sidewalk, it wasn't to carry her books. They had tried to herd me towards a group of dilapidated old abandoned buildings, but I wasn't eager to oblige.

It was beyond disturbing that I _knew_ these boys; I had three classes with both of them. Ernest Munchetti and Brock Sandingham were Socs- socialites- from the respectable and wealthy South side of town. They came from money, looked like movie stars, and were both on the cross country team at the only high school in our town.

They had hardly ever even acknowledged my existence before today. During the study hall I shared with them, I had dropped my Biology book at the back of the crowded classroom. As I bent down to retrieve it, Ernie had whistled appreciatively while Brock laughed and punched him on the arm. I had straightened jerkily and plopped into my seat, glaring at my desk and trying to hide my furious blushing behind my auburn hair. I should have appreciated my social invisibility while I had it.

The pounding feet behind me were getting closer, but so was the gas station. I could see two uniformed attendants servicing an ancient El Camino at the first pump. There were several other boys, some leaning against the car, and I could hear them laughing and razzing on each other over the pounding of blood in my head.

I squinted against the wind that whipped into my eyes, trying to see past my tears; the last thing I needed was to escape the frying pan only to jump in the fire. The boys looked safe, familiar- they all wore their hair longer than the kids from the South side, and there wasn't a single brand name thread among them. Since we were now on the North side of town, I thought it was a pretty safe bet that they lived here.

I bit back a shriek as I felt fingers brush the back of my cotton t-shirt, trying to find purchase. Distracted from the rhythm of my canvas high-tops slapping against the sidewalk, I stumbled and crashed to the ground, not quite catching myself on my palms.

There wasn't time to take inventory beyond the sharp stinging that emenated from my hands and knees. One of the boys that were chasing me- probably Ernie, the heavier one- skidded to a stop beside me and lost his balance. He landed on top of me, his wildly thrown elbow bouncing my head off the sidewalk and his weight knocking the wind out of me.

My vision was blurred and I was gasping violently, trying to force air into my bruised lungs. A thunder of footsteps vibrated through the ground, straight to my skull, followed with angry shouting and the metallic _shick_ of switchblades being sprung. Two pairs of bony hands were suddenly gripping me under my arms, hauling me to my feet and pulling me backwards to the brick side of the building I had crashed in front of.

Sliding down the wall I was propped against, I could feel the corners of the old bricks digging into my back and snagging on my shirt. I sat huddled in the sparse grass with my arms wrapped around my chest and my knees drawn up to my chin. My breath was coming easier and I distantly noticed that the knees of my jeans were shredded and soaked in blood.

Two of the boys from the gas station stood in front of me, legs braced and fists up, intently tracking the scuffle on the sidewalk. They were about the same height, and both were slim and wiry, but the one on the left showed more of the gawkiness of early adolescence. I recognized the back of his head form school- I spent about 50 minutes a day looking at it in History class. His name was Ponyboy Curtis, and although he was only 14, he took classes with sophomores, having skipped a grade in junior high.

The boy on the right was totally unfamiliar to me. His hair was inky black and uneven, his complexion russet, maybe Native American. I could see a nervous tension in him that held his body tight, and he was twitchy like a beaten dog. He had two fingers in the back pocket of his grubby jeans and I could seem the telltale gleam of a blade peeking out.

On the sidewalk, one of the station attendants had Brock in a headlock, grimly holding on as a brown-haired boy in a Mickey Mouse shirt slammed fist after fist into the jock's vulnerable midsection. He pulled the last punch and chuckling, patted Brock on the cheek and nodded to his accomplice, grinning. The other guy let go, and Brock dropped to his hands and knees and started vomiting.

The other fight had moved out to the middle of the street, where the other uniformed boy had backed off in deference to a taller young man in a worn, brown bomber jacket. His back was to me, but I took in the shape of his body- he had broad shoulders that tapered to narrow hips, and I could see his thigh muscles working underneath his jeans. His hair was a dark chocolate brown and curled slightly where it brushed his ears and the nape of his neck. I also noticed his scuffed, mud splattered boots, because he'd just kicked Ernie in the face.

Brock scuttled over to Ernie and was hauling him to his feet, half dragging him back the way they had come, while my saviours hooted and howled, throwing rocks after them. As the socs disappeared around the corner, all eyes turned to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Ponyboy reached out a hand to me and pulled me to my feet, which I was finding it difficult to find. The tears had stopped, but I could feel the path they had taken down my face and my heart was still pounding unevenly. I took a short step backwards until I could feel the rough wall once more against my back and glanced quickly over each pair of eyes as they watched me.

"Thanks," I gasped out, wrapping my arms tighter about myself to try to control the violent trembling that was ripping though me. I was going to cry again, and what had been stoic and appraising expressions shifted simultaneously into anxious embarrassment. One of the boys in uniform leaned towards me.

"Maybe you should sit back down, huh?" he gently asked. Studying for the first time, the family resemblance was unmistakable- this was Ponyboy's older brother, Sodapop.

"I'm okay," I wheezed. "I'll be fine. I'm okay." I was biting my lip hard, trying to keep my eyes focused, trying not to go to pieces. It wasn't really working.

The boy in the brown leather jacket came to me, hold me gently by the elbow. His eyes were deep set, shadowed under his brow, and he regarded me thoughtfully. His wide lips twitched as I snuffled.

"You're losing it, honey, but it's alright. Happens to all of us," he said softly, moving nearer to me. He was right in front of me now, holding both my elbows in his cupped hands, shielding me from his friends' view.

"I don't know your name," I hiccuped. My breath was shuddering in and out of me, and I was very close to sobbing. He slowly eased his hand to the back of my neck and leaned down to look in my eyes. Maybe I should have been wary, but he seemed safe and calm.

"My name's James. I don't usually let chicks cry on me, but this time I'll make an exception." He smiled.

"M-mary," I stuttered. "I'm Mary. And the floodgates opened.

Sometime during the storm of my shock and fear I had ended up in the grass, almost in James's lap, with my face pressed into his shoulder. Once of his large hands was rubbing slow circles on my back, the other smoothed my hair as he murmured soothing things to me.

As the last of my wretched sobs died away, I scrubbed a hand across my tear soaked face and shifted away from him. I felt ashamed and embarrassed as I realized I had just cried my heart out all over a stranger, in front of a handful of _other_ strangers- and nothing had actually happened to me.

Standing was a shaky business, but I managed it without the hand James offered. Not ready to meet anyone's eyes, I ran a shaking hand through the windswept mass of my hair, then pulled at the bottom hem of my shirt. I took a deep, steadying breath and looked up to James where he was standing beside me.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, blushing. "I mean, thank you. All of you," I added, turning to include everyone. They all nodded, mostly smiling slightly- probably still a little embarrassed by my crying jag. _I_ was still embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it, honey," James said, a smile in his voice. "It was fun, getting to beat some preppy ass on our own turf."

"Well, I mean, the crying-" I started, but stopped when James shook his head and threw a companionable arm around my shoulders.

"I said don't worry about it. Everyone flips out the first time they get jumped. Steve just about shit his self, his first time." He gestured to the gas station attendant I didn't know, grinning mischievously. Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned bright red, muttering "Thanks, asshole," as he stalked back to the station. Sodapop loped after him, chuckling and shaking his head.

"I should be getting home," I said to no one in particular. The sun was sinking behind the tree line in the distance.

"We'll walk you," James said, steering me towards the sidewalk. "I gotta drop Ponyboy and Johnny off at Pony's house, then I'm all yours," he said rakishly.

I stiffened and pulled out from under his arm, biting my lip. I recalled that earlier flash of thought, about the frying pan and the fire. I was used to a world where nothing was free, and you never got something without giving something, and I worried what he might want from me. I wasn't sure how to set things straight without putting my foot in my mouth.

He must have read it on my face, because he slid his hands into his jacket pockets and his sea green eyes turned serious.

"We're just gonna walk you home. Those socs could have gone for a car to come back and finish where they left off." His eyes searched mine. "No one will touch you, but you can't go by yourself." His mobile mouth stretched into a grin. "So where do you live?"

"Poplar Street," I breathed. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. "Third shoebox on the left," I added, my lips turning up in a tentative smile.

"That's more like it," James said, nodding at Ponyboy and Johnny.

The guy in the Mickey Mouse shirt was looking at James speculatively while taking a drink from a bottle hidden in a paper bag he had taken from his back pocket. He replaced it with the cigarette that was resting behind his ear and lit it with an expertly flourished Zippo lighter.

"I'm gonna stick around with Steve and Soda," he said around the cigarette dangling from his lips. "Maybe I'll get lucky and some socs'll chase another looker our way." He flicked his eyes in my direction, and at James's nod, stepped off the sidewalk toward the gas station.


End file.
